It's My Fault
by Bestbuds55
Summary: The tables are turned when John comes in contract with Sherlock's latest experiment, it leaves him unable to take care of himself. Sherlock must care for him, but what happens when he falls in love with John?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note- This is the beginning of yet another awesome Sherlock x John story! I've been totally hooked of these two for quite awhile now, and hope you readers love them just as much as I do! Oh, by the way reviews are always appreciated, because I always read everything they say and sometimes (actually more often than not) they even give me a good hit of inspiration!

Disclaimer- I own nothing but the story...

John looked out of his taxi's window and watched as England's building flew by. It always looked so beautiful in the spring. He was finally getting back to the flat after working a 14 hour shift. No one should have to work for that long; people aren't even able to concentrate for that long. 'Well, most people anyway.' John thought while rolling his eyes and smirking.

Sherlock tended to go for 25-30 hours without doing anything but working on his latest case. Of course, it could be possible that Sherlock wasn't human. That was a lie, Sherlock was indeed human; John had seen him collapse from lack of food and sleep before. That had been a disheartening sight for him to see. Since then he had been force feeding Sherlock small amount of food while they were on a case.

That was simply because Sherlock wouldn't do anything for himself. He wouldn't make himself a sandwich, (John wasn't sure what to think the first time he had been told to make a sandwich) he wouldn't go and get his phone, not even if it was important. Hell, he wouldn't even go to the bathroom until absolutely necessary! That was just sad.

Though, it's not like John did anything about it, actually he just let it happen. Sherlock wasn't going to change as long as he could get away with it either. Not that he would change if he was asked to. In fact, Sherlock probably only lived with him because he could put up with all of his bad habits. Still, John really wished that he wasn't treated like Sherlock house wife anytime they went out, by everyone, including Sherlock.

The taxi cab finally came to a halt in front of his flat. 221b Baker Street, this place was his home. This is where both he and Sherlock had lived for nearly 5 months. Those five months had been the best times of his entire life. They had been stocked full of crimes and running around London. Not this week though, Sherlock had declared it was time for him to have a week off. He had claimed to need time to go through and delete all the extra data from his mind palace. That would be unbelievable coming from anyone else's mouth, but sounded just like Sherlock.

Sherlock and normal didn't really even belong in the same sentence anyway. Unable to ignore going inside any longer; mostly because he was cold and in a few more moments his lips would probably be blue, he opened the door. It was a very cold spring day. He could even see his breath.

Walking in, John quickly saw the flat was empty. Weird; Sherlock hadn't wanted to leave for a week that's why he had wanted the week off in the first place! It's not like Sherlock to go to someplace like the store either; so where could he have gone? John cautiously made his way over to the kitchen and immediately noticed a weird bowl of pinkish liquid on the middle of the table. Now this was really weird; Sherlock never left his experiment unattended. That was the only reason that John almost never got after Sherlock doing experiments, he only ever mentioned them when Sherlock managed to destroy something or use all the food in fridge for them and then refuse to go buy more.

Maybe it wasn't an experiment but his attempt at cooking. No, Sherlock cooking was just too weird to imagine. Then again, this whole situation was weird, and for some reason from five feet away it smelled absolutely lovely. There wasn't any other way to explain it either, it was beautiful. Weird, he would have to ask Sherlock about it when he got back later.

John yawned tiredly and wondered back into the living room. He was suddenly much too tired to deal with that pink liquid at the moment. Joust a short nap, and then he would get up and figure out what was wrong with this entire situation. John slid into his chair and blinked slowly, once, twice, trice.

Suddenly he was being shook violently and being yelled at frantically. He hadn't even remembered falling asleep, nothing made sense; he had just sat down. Yet, Sherlock was gripping his arms worriedly and look terribly nervous. His mouth was moving at a rapid pace, yet John was unable to hear what was being said. John smiled sweetly, he was finally able to completely block out Sherlock's voice.

His eyes closed once more, yet flew back open as he felt pressure against his lips. Sherlock was kissing him? Well, it seemed more like he was being given CPR. Then, Sherlock's voice was once again spiralling through his head. "Don't worry John; I'll take care of any reactions. You just have to stay awake until you feel its full affects."

Sherlock's voice was fast, deep and very worried. John tried to respond but it came out as nothing but a groan. That was weird, what the hell was wrong with him? Then he felt it, a heat pooling all around him. He blanked out yet was suddenly able to think much more clearly. That liquid that he had smelled; perhaps it had made him sick. That had been the reason to why Sherlock hadn't been there, to avoid its affects. Yet John had walked unknowingly straight into its danger zone. How stupid he had been.

His eyes opened and his body felt really cold. Extremely cold, and there was a hand pressing against his chest. Even through his clothes he could feel its heat and for some reason he wanted it against his skin. To give him that that feeling of warmth. He wanted to so badly.

He looked up towards Sherlock with clouded eyes; he was so damn cold and needed that beautiful warmth. "Sher, wha's goin on?" He slurred as if he were drunk. Sherlock pulled away and was seemingly examining him, no doubt treating him like an experiment. He didn't want to be an experiment. Still, it was better than being cold and alone at this moment. "Coome 'ack."

Sherlock stilled once more and John could practically feel Sherlock's eyes rake over his body. It was much like someone would do for a lover. It confused him a little bit, but he decided that if Sherlock wanted to look at him like that then, he definitely wasn't going to stop him. Sherlock's lips pressed to him once again and this time John opened his mouth to it, trying to encourage Sherlock's tongue to come out and play.

Sure enough, Sherlock did get the hint and explored John's mouth with the freedom of doing whatever he wished. He didn't even pull back until John moaned into the kiss and by that time they were both panting completely out of breath. God, Sherlock's tongue and his lips had both felt like heaven. John quickly decided he wanted more.

Yet, instead of kissing a needy John again, Sherlock leaned forward do their foreheads were pressing together. He looked like he was trying to hold back and be serious about something at the same time. John didn't want him to hold back. He wanted Sherlock to kiss him again, to push him into a mattress and do even more dirty and intimate things to his body.

"John, you need to sleep this off now. I'll be here when you wake up. We'll deal with the rest of the effects then." Sherlock's voice was calm and much deeper then it usually was. It had been full of sex, yet suggested he go to sleep. He didn't want to sleep; he wanted to be kissed again. This wasn't fair.

"Don' wanna sleep, wanna sex you." John tried talking again. He had failed miserably, yet he felt that he had still managed to get the message across to Sherlock with his pout.

Sherlock didn't say anything back; all he did was kiss John's forehead. Despite saying he didn't want to sleep, his eyes fluttered closed also immediately after. The last thing he could remember was being lifted bridal style of his chair and carried, then dropped on a soft place. It was probably his bed, but John found himself much too tired to check.

And that's the end of the first chapter!


	2. The tables have turned

Author's note: Hey, I hope you all enjoyed chapter one because the second is now here for you to read. Why is that you ask, because I wrote this instead of studying for my exams which are starting 3 days from now... Yeah, oh well.

Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes. That makes me very sad...

Sherlock had just put John into bed when he walked back out into the living room. He placed a finger over his lips when thinking about how they had kissed. John was defenceless in his drugged state and he had taken advantage of him.

Delete. That was too depressing for him to think about. Sighing slightly, he made his way over to the kitchen and picked up the bowl of grey liquid. It had been bright pink when he had made the concoction, yet it didn't seem to last very long. He pulled out a notebook and started to write everything he had found out about the drug.

: Unnamed new drug causes anyone who smells it in its vibrant pink form, to become comatosely tired. Their hearts relax and try to stop breathing for the first 30 minutes, after that they are free to sleep. The person's body temperature seems to drop and they lose the ability to speak properly. When in its grey form; it does nothing at all.

After that, Sherlock walked back to the couch and sunk into it. It had been so stupid of him not to warn John about the haywire experiment. He had had to literally shake the life back into John, another few minutes and he'd be planning a funeral. Sherlock swallowed hard, his experiments had never had effects on John before, and he hoped John would forgive him. Maybe the drug would cause some form of memory loss? Not likely.

Besides then John wouldn't remember that they hadn't kissed, that he had been Sherlock's first kiss. That he had wanted to do more than kiss with Sherlock. He hoped that that hadn't been the drug talking because when John had spoken; he heart had nearly jumped out of his chest.

Still, John was definitely going to be angry with him when he awoke whether he liked the kisses or not. He probably had even thought that he had tried to kill him that was the only logical response after all. Standing up off the couch once more, Sherlock started pacing. It was much too hard to sit in one place when he was this worried.

In under an hour of worrying, he had cleaned the entire living room, washed all of the dishes, (even the ones that had already been clean) and checked on John, twice. He hadn't awakened yet, he hadn't even moved! Both times, Sherlock had to take John's pulse just to make sure he was still breathing!

It was a little scary to see how much of a sleep that drug had put him in. Sherlock had decided to abandon all research on it; it had hurt John. Therefore it didn't deserve to be discovered. Sherlock shuddered at his own sense of logic and that was the most pitiful thing that had ever managed to cross his mind.

Suddenly, he heard a groan coming from the other room; John's room. He hurried over, flinging the door open without a single thought. Much to his relief, John's eyes were finally open. He nearly smirked before realizing something was indeed wrong with this picture; John's eyes were wide, his mouth was open, his entire face was beat red and he looked like he was struggling to move.

'Oh god, what have I done to John?' That was Sherlock's only thought as he stalked forward into the room and stood beside the bed. "John? Are you feeling okay now?" Sherlock questioned wanting to know what was wrong. John was a doctor; surely he would tell him what to do.

The only thing he got out of John was a strained, "Ahh." That wasn't good. Perhaps the drug had now made its way through John systems and completely took away his ability to speak. 'And move.' Sherlock added as an afterthought as he watched John struggle to move under to move under the sheet which Sherlock had placed over him just over an hour before.

It hurt to see John like this, but he had to stick around to find out what was wrong. After all, this was all his fault, this wouldn't have ever happened to John if he hadn't have been playing around with chemicals. On if he had just texted him not to go into the flat.

It had been so stupid of him not to, because now John was hurt or sick, he wasn't sure. He turned all his attention to John when he groaned again, and saw a streak of drool slide down his face. Sherlock suddenly understood what his experiment had done to John; it had taken away his ability to function.

As John had probably already noticed, his limbs would be heavier then he could manage, no doubt had no control of his body. Sherlock felt sick to his stomach; it had only started to take effect an hour ago and now John was going to be bed ridden, and it was his entirely fault.

Sherlock leaned forward and stroked John's hair soothingly, trying to calm him down. John was no doubt panicked that he was unable to do anything. Right now John needed comfort, he needed Sherlock; nothing else mattered. "Don't worry Johny; I'll take good care of you. Nothing bad id going to happen, I promise."

The truth was that he was in no way going to be capable of taking care of John, but John needed him. He had told Lestrade that he didn't want a case for a week yesterday, so he would be free to help John this week anyway. Then there was the big question; exactly how long would this last? Sherlock had no idea when or if this would wear off; John could be better in an hour or stay like this forever. He didn't have enough facts.

He looked down at John, as John pushed his head back against the hand Sherlock had placed in his hair. That was it; his mind was completely made up. John needed to be taken care of because of _**his **_experiment. This was completely his fault and Sherlock was going to make it right again. He would be the one to take care of him.

With a small smile he thought about how the tables had turned; John was always taking care of him yet now it was the other way around. He would need a table and s schedule with a great number of alarms to remember when to make food for John. Before that, he would need to do some research on how to make food. He had never needed to before.

As John's breathing evened out into it barely able to be heard state, Sherlock realized that John had fallen asleep. He pulled his hand back and walked out, quietly closing the door as he went. He picked up John's laptop off the coffee table and started to write a schedule. This would be very important; so Sherlock didn't accidently kill him by not bringing him water for three days.

'John needs some type of liquid every two hours, and a meal every five to eight. There, that was easy enough.' Sherlock thought while typing the list of things he would need to buy for this to happen. They didn't have any food at the apartment and the juice hadn't made it through his last experiment.

Then it occurred to him that if John was incapable of moving or functioning then he was going to the bathroom or washing himself. Sherlock debated buying diapers, but decided not to. He couldn't bare thinking / knowing he had put his best friend (maybe more?) back into diapers. Plus, John would never forgive him when he returns back to normal.

He put extra sheets on his list of supplies, after deciding he would just continuously change the sheet. Also, it would be a good idea to pick up some books to read to John. He would no doubt be bored of not being able to move and having something to do when bored is very important; Sherlock knew that from experience.

It occurred to him that he shouldn't leave the flat in case John woke up; but he had already finished his list. There was a lot of it to, if it were only a few things he could have asked Mrs. Hudson to pick them up. But there was much more than one person to carry. Sherlock cringed when he realized what he was going to have to do.

And that's the end of this lovely chapter, sorry about the cliff hanger, but the next should be up as soon as I finish my exams! I think the next few chapters will be in Sherlock's view just like this one, please review your thoughts, I love you my readers! ~Doom out~


	3. Johny

Author's note- Hey guy's I'm back again and my exams are finally down! I love you guy, your comments and summer, because I write while sitting outside usually. It's so much better to do something like this outside and good for my bad health, so review and love it as much as I do please!

Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes. Man, do I ever wish I did... text come in these things, ...

Sherlock stared at his phone several times in disgust; he didn't want to be doing this at all. Unfortunately, there was no way around this they needed all of the supplies. He would have to text Mycroft and ask him to pick up all of those damn things.

Need your help with something, SH.

With what little brother? MH

With you to pick up supplies for me, can't leave the flat. Would appreciate you compliance. SH.

Give the list and you shall receive. MH

Milk, orange juice, apple juice, canned stew, tomato soup, simple cookbook, soft sponge, three sets of twin sized sheets, several books that are interesting by societies prospective and all ordinary household cooking materials. SH.

Will send someone with everything in a few hours. MH.

Sherlock locked back over all the texts, that hadn't been half as bad as he thought it was going to be. In fact, his brother had almost been identified as happy to help. At least now he didn't have to leave John alone. Yes, that was the only important thing that he could keep John alive and safe from the world.

He wasn't sure how people would react to seeing the John that they knew reduced to a drooling mess. They would judge him for something that was entirely Sherlock's fault. They just wouldn't understand. Which is why, he wasn't going to let anyone know what had happened. Besides; Mycroft because he probably already knew and it might be a good idea to have someone who can pick up the groceries.

Yes, this could work; at least for the next six days anyway. After that, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. They would cross that bridge when (or if) they came to it, because, (at least right now anyway) they were fine.

A loud crash came from John's room and Sherlock immediately came back to reality. He sprinted for John's room in absolute worry, what if someone had come through the window and decided to hurt John in his weakened state?

The door was flung open in worry for a second time that day and Sherlock let out a sigh of relief when he saw what had really happened. John had managed to roll off the side of the bed in his sleep. The first thought that came through Sherlock's head when realising that was that perhaps he should buy John a larger bed so if he rolled, he wouldn't fall off.

That thought quickly passed when he heard John whimper from the floor. He then remembered that for the most part, John could not really move. Taking a few steps closer, he leaned down to pick John up; getting him back on the bed was important right now.

Sherlock stopped all his movements when he saw tears streaking down from John's eyes. He hadn't even seen John cry before and it made him gasp with worry. What if he had hurt himself during the fall? It had caused quite a large crash after all.

"John? Are you alright?" He asked before remembering John wouldn't be able to answer him. If he was hurt, all he could do was cry until Sherlock figured out what was wrong. Which wasn't good, because while he was a genius at reading people, there were no hints that something was wrong besides the tears.

Sighing quietly, Sherlock picked John up off the ground and placed him back on top of the bed. Tears were still falling from John's wide eyes so Sherlock was confused when he found nothing physically wrong with John's body. 'He is crying because of a bad dream.' Sherlock thought in realization. It really was the only thing that it could be.

Pulling up a chair from the other side of John's small room, he sat down beside the bed. As he did before to comfort John, Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair, who was sniffling softly. He began to wonder of John even remembered who Sherlock was or who _he_ was.

Probably not, John would not cry over a dream whether or not he could move or talk. It was like that drug had replaced his blogger's personality with that of a small and helpless child. Leaving John an empty shell of a body.

'That would explain the immobility to talk and the tears.' Sherlock reasoned grimly. 'Until John comes down from the effects of the drug, I'll be taking care of this helpless version of him. I'll call him Johny so when John comes back he can put this whole thing completely behind him.'

Looking over at John he saw that he was being stared at with drowsy eyes. It's not like there was anything else to do but stare at the only animate object in the room. When he got those groceries he would be able to read to John, until then though, the only thing he had to do was stroke his hair with love. It was necessary.

Eventually once again slunk quietly out of the room, this time leaving the door open. In case John woke up and needed him; he might not be able to make enough noise if the door was closed. It was nearly four o'clock; a mere three hours after the drug had affected John.

He could not help but wish it were him that had been affected; John did not deserve this. John didn't deserve anything bad to happen to his life, because he was completely innocent and loyal. Believing anything that anyone said to him, even if he knew it were a lie.

There was a knock on the door and Sherlock rushed over in fear that John might wake up if the noise continued. He needed to be able to sleep the drug off or he'd never get back to his normal self.

It was one of Mycroft's assistants and he simply took the bags from them before closing the door all but in their face. He put away all the groceries without any particular thoughts present in his mind, and stopped only to examine what was in the bag of books. 'The kite Runner; have read it and might be too sad for John in his current state. The Alchemist; John would enjoy, haven't read before. The Outsiders; classic and John already has a copy. Twilight; burn this later.' He thought while looking.

He stacked the four books on the table; (whether any of them were any good or not) at least he would have something that would keep them both somewhat busy. His phone beeped, signalling that he should be bringing in a glass of liquid for John right about now. He thanked himself for setting a timer because Sherlock was sure he would have forgotten.

He chooses just plain water and decided to save the juice for another time. Sherlock poured the glass half full before realizing that John was most likely going to need a straw to drink through. 'Damn, we don't have any straws.' He thought now unsure of what to do. He set the glass down on the table before heading down to Mrs. Hudson's flat, perhaps she would have straws.

Knocking on the door once, Sherlock walked in, not wanting to wait any longer. She wasn't home anyway; all of the lights were off. 'Good, this way I don't have to tell her why I need them.' He thought while searching her cabinets.

It only took him two tries o actually find the straws and he took a handful out of the box. He could have taken the whole box, but then he would have had to leave a note, and he didn't want to have to leave one. Took too much time, John might wake up before he got back.

That thought was the last one on his mind, before he raced back up to their flat, with the straws in hand. It was now five minutes past when he should have brought that drink to John. What a bad caretaker he was.

And that's another chapter so I hope you guys are loving this story as much as I am, already working on the next chapter, so you probably won't have to wait very long.


	4. Please drink?

Author's note- Hey guy's I'm back again, after just a small vacation! So sorry about the last few weeks of absence, but it was really nice to have a vacation! Don't worry about it any longer, because I managed to write this chapter and the next one while away. Just have to type them, because I wrote it on paper... enjoy?

Warning- I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, how sad is that?

Sherlock poured a new glass of water and placed one of the stolen straws into it, before calmly moving into John's room and setting it down on his night table. John was still asleep, but hadn't had anything to drink in the last four hours (or more), because he probably didn't have time to have tea before he came in contact with the drug.

Plus, it was really important to keep to his schedule, which meant not only bringing him s drink every few hours but making sure he drank some of it. It was both important for Sherlock's sanity and John's health. Still, John was asleep and would probably be fine to drink some when he woke up. But what if he forgot to pass it to him? John would go thirsty then and be dead in a few short days. That was definitely not a good train of thought.

In his drugged state missing a few cups of water were absolutely unacceptable, he would most likely get even worse. He already couldn't get much worse, and that's really what worried Sherlock. How was he going to be able to tell if something was wrong with John?

A small, "Ah?" knocked Sherlock out of his thoughts. John was awake now, there was no more need to debate waking him to get him to drink something. Wide and still tired looking eyes were now staring at him, unsure of what to think. "I'm gonna hold the drink up for you, just make sure to drink some, okay Johny?" Sherlock whispered.

True to his word, Sherlock held the drink up, so the straw was mere inches away from John's lips. To his dismay though, John made no move for the straw. He just continued to stare at Sherlock with wide eyes. Why wasn't he trying to get a drink? He had to be thirsty by now? He had to be?

"It's okay, it's just water. It's fine to drink. See, I'll show you, watch me." Sherlock mumbled frantically, now hysteric that John wouldn't drink. He drank some water from the straw as demonstration but when he put the straw back down to John's lips, he turned his head away. 'Why is this happening? Why isn't John letting me take care of him; he needs to drink something!' Sherlock thought while biting his lip.

An idea presented itself into Sherlock's mind and he decided to go with it. Sherlock took a small amount of water into his mouth, before leaning down and mouth feeding it into John's. John would have to forgive him for this later, because it would certainly be an embarrassing thing to remember later.

Sherlock did this a few more times until he successfully got John to 'drink' more than half of the glass of water. That, at least, would keep his mind off of the possibility of John dying of dehydration for at least a few hours.

He gave John one last peck on the lips just for the heck of it before moving beck and taking a seat on the chair he had pulled up before. Pushing the fact that he had just had to force feed John into drinking a little bit of water; that had gone rather well. Still, John as pouting now and did not look happy at all.

He was most likely angry at Sherlock, after all, being forced to do something was never very dignifying. "I'm sorry I forced you to drink something, but it was for your own good. Water is a necessity for human life." Sherlock found himself explaining.

Apparently not pleased with that, John turned his head away from Sherlock, which Sherlock has to guess would be the equivalent of storming out of the flat in frustration if he could manage to move his body. John also did not even attempt to answer, which remotely pissed Sherlock off. He was so use to having John talk to him (or even back at him), that his silence really hurt, it reminded Sherlock of being alone.

Yet, he was not alone, he had John. Or at this moment John had him. So, they sat there in silence for god knows how long, trying not to feel alone together. Sherlock's phone had beeped several times from the kitchen and he could now see the stars from John's curtain less window. It was night-time. Late during the night.

John had not fallen back to sleep though, not after the water incident. Sherlock even briefly wondered if he had decided that Sherlock wasn't to be trusted because he had forced him to drink water. Absurd, but seemingly true, because John's eyes remained open and staring at him.

Sherlock sighed and looked out of the window for a few brief seconds before turning back to John with a compromise. "If you drink what's left in the cup, by yourself, I'll leave you alone to sleep. Besides, I was planning on going to bed anyway." Sherlock stated before picking up the cup and holding the straw in front of John's lips once more. To his surprise, this time John's lips curled around the straw and started to weakly suck at it.

That picked Sherlock's mood up instantly; John always listened to him when he compromised for them. Plus, John now had an entire cup of water down; tomorrow he would have to try to get John to eat some food. Hopefully it would not be as much of a battle as the water was. He drank water through the straw on the other hand, that meant that he could be getting better. Besides, how long could a small amount of drug even last? Especially since it had only been the smell of the drug, and not contact with it. Sherlock shuddered at that thought, if John had come into contact with it; it would have either paralyzed him for life or just instantly killed him. He could have accidentally killed his John.

Removing the glass from John's face, Sherlock set it down for a moment. He realized it wouldn't be all that comfortable or good for John to spend the night in his clothes. Especially those stiff jeans. "I'm going to remove your clothes now, don't panic Johny it's just so you'll be more comfortable. You would be much too uncomfortable to sleep with those uncomfortable jeans on." He said before undoing John's jeans.

Sherlock felt himself blush a tiny bit, this was the first time he had ever undressed another person. A person who was not only his flat mate but the man who he had technically kissed multiple times on multiple different occasions that day. This could defiantly count as what one would call 'an embarrassing moment for the record books.'

Still, John wasn't fighting him at all, so that must mean that he trusted Sherlock with this. Sherlock unbuttoned john's jeans and slowly pulled them down John's legs, he was going to have to remember this moment for the rest of his life; the first time he saw John in nothing but his boxers. Well, boxers and like three layers of shirts. Those would come off to though, because John would be to hot in his sleep otherwise.

With his jeans fully off, Sherlock folded them neatly and put them down on the floor; trying to keep himself from turning red. "Okay, the rest have to come off as well now." He whispered while tugging on John's jumper. That was going to have to come off by pulling it over his head.

It came off with great difficulty; as John wasn't moving at all and Sherlock was trying to pull it off without accidently hurting him. The shirt under the jumper was a button-up; thank god! It only took him only a tiny effort to strip John of that one. That left him in red boxers and a white undershirt; those would be comfortable enough to sleep in and not make him too hot.

"There, those should be fine for you to sleep in. Do you need anything else, Johny?" Sherlock asked more to himself then John. Blank eyes stared back at him, and he realized he was going to get an answer. With a sigh he added to his previous statement, "I'll be in my room, both doors will be open so if you need anything just call. Sleep tight Johny, I hope you're better in the morning."

John made no attempt to answer, but just closed his eyes signaling that he was going to sleep now. Sherlock smiled slightly at the sight; they had made it through the first day of this, this, _whatever the hell this was._ He didn't kill John by accident and john trusted him enough to close his eyes while he was in the room.

Sherlock pulled the sheet over John's figure and kissed his forehead goodnight, before wandering out of John's room and into his own. As he stripped himself naked for bed, (If he told John he was going to sleep, then he was going to be true to his word and sleep) he couldn't help but hope that John would be back to normal soon.

He very much wanted to kiss John and show him exactly how much he cared for him. With nothing but John on his mind, he climbed into the dusty bed, (it hadn't really been used in awhile) and fell asleep.

Well, this has got to be my favorite chapter yet, I hope you guys like it and review for me my beautiful darlings!


	5. I'm hard for you

Author's note- Hey I'm back again, did you guys miss me? Isn't vacation just the best, well I think so! Anyway read and review for me, on with the chapter.

Warning- I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, how sad is that?

Sherlock woke up with a jolt; a loud groan had just echoed from somewhere in the hallway. Immediately he knew it had been John; there wasn't anyone else that it possibly could have been. He jumped up from his bed and ran to John's room, fearing that something bad had happened.

When he arrived the first thing he noticed were the tears pouring from John's eyes. They looked desperate and his face will filled with shame. It was then that Sherlock's saw the wet area on the sheets, directly over John's crotch. He let out the breath that he didn't know he had been holding; nothing was wrong with John.

He had just wet the bed, and was now crying in shame that he had done so. "Don't worry Johny, there's nothing that you can do about it, you can't exactly make it to the bathroom if you can't move." He explained sweetly, trying to get the tears to stop raining. "We'll just move you change the sheets, and then get you cleaned up, okay?"

John sniffled a small bit and the tears stopped, as if he was trying to say; yes please help me with this. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I had no other option. Smiling sadly, (he really missed John's voice) Sherlock pulled the wet sheet off of John's body. It would need to be washed after this.

It occurred to him that perhaps that was why he didn't want to drink the water yesterday; he didn't want to wet the bed. Filing that thought away, Sherlock stared at John's soaked boxers. He was going to need to take those off and wash John, of John was going to be uncomfortable.

"I'm going to pour a bath for you, so we can get cleaned up, then I'll deal with the bed." Sherlock told John, before stalking off to the bathroom. It had taken him this long to realize that he was naked.

He turned the taps on the tub on, making sure it wouldn't be to hot for John, and then went to fetch John while the water poured. He picked a whimpering John off of the damp mattress and carried him bridal style to the bathroom. When in the bathroom, Sherlock placed John in a sitting up position on top of the toilet seat; he had to be stripped before he could go into the water. That was just plain logic.

Immediately, Sherlock noticed that John had trouble sitting up, that was going to be problematic for the bath. He stripped off John's undershirt with care and moved to his wet boxers. These needed to come off to, which was unfortunate because this is not how he wanted to remember first seeing John naked. Still, that was necessary for getting him cleaned up, Which was necessary for keeping John cleaned up. Which was necessary for keeping John from crying, keeping him as happy as he possibly could.

This was really all his fault that this was happening away, the least he could do was keep John as far away from being miserable as he possibly could. If that meant stripping John naked and then taking a bath with him leaning against his chest, then that's what he would do.

When John's boxers came off, they were thrown carelessly into the sink, to be hand washed later. He turned the taps off and picked John back up into his arms and placed him carefully into the warm water before sliding in directly behind him. Not being able to move or sit up by himself, John laid back again against his chest.

Unable to control himself, Sherlock felt himself get hard. 'Well fuck; this is just a horrible situation.' Sherlock thought grimly. John would be able to feel Sherlock's hard cock pressing into his back, yet he couldn't exactly move. On the other side of the table; Sherlock couldn't leave John because he couldn't sit up by himself. He also could not just wank off when John would be forced to just sit there and wait for the horrible moment to be over.

Sherlock decided to ignore it and hoped it would go away on its own; focusing his attention on scrubbing John's back. This was a truly embarrassing situation that he just had to hope that John would not remember. He continued to carefully washes the unmoving body that was slumped again him until he reached his privets. Sherlock took a deep breath before running the cloth over John's limp cock, reminding himself that this had to happen.

He would be forgiven for this because there wasn't any other choice. Still, touching John's body all over wasn't helping his hard member either. When he accidently rubbed his straining hard penis against John's back, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. God why did John's skin have to feel so good again him?

Soon enough, John's body had been thoroughly washed and they were ready to get out. The only problem was that Sherlock was still rock hard. Also, by this point in time he was hoping that John wouldn't hate him because of this when he got better. He wouldn't be able to stand life if John decided it was best to hate him.

Sherlock picked John up once more and, (with great difficultly) managed to maneuver a towel around him. He could dry himself off later, John was much more important. Bringing John back to his room, he angled him onto a chair before drying his body off. He didn't want John to catch a cold, not in this already weakened state.

Once dry, Sherlock pulled a fresh pair of boxers from john's drawer and pulled them up his hips. They were white with blue strips and looked very good on John. 'Now is not the time for that!' Sherlock reminded himself. The mattress was still damp and needed to be washed, and John was looking exhausted. "Johny, I'm going to move you into my room so you can sleep a bit more while I wash the sheets." He stated.

John once again didn't show any signs of resistance at all, so Sherlock picked him up and carried him down the hall and into his own room. It was a little dusty, but would be much better then sleeping in urine. He tucked John into the bed, before kissing his cheek and leaving the room.

He headed right back for John's room and stripped the bed. Everything needed to be washed. He would do that later though; 5 am was much to early for this much cleaning. In fact, he wasn't even sure he knew how to use the washing machine. John had always done all his wash for him. God, he missed John so much.

Sitting down on John's floor, he reached down towards his still hard and forgotten member. The bath had been the hardest test of endurance that he had ever had. Not to mention that he was sure John had felt everything; how could he not have? There had been a few times of him rubbing against John's back while cleaning him.

His skin had been so damn soft; John was so cute. Why hadn't he been able to see that before? John was thin, yet muscular and he was very light which made Sherlock want to question how he usually ate so much. Then there were the smaller things, like how john's face absolutely lit up when he smiled or when he was giving praise to him.

John's smiling face flashed through his head with every long stroke. It was if he could see John laughing; would he ever be able t see John laugh again? God, did he ever hope so.

As Sherlock ran his hand over his cock fast, he began to image that it was john's hand, instead off his own. How would John's smaller and much softer hand feel? It would feel great, like a heaven on Earth sort of situation. Sherlock had to bite down on his lip harshly to keep from groaning.

How long had it been since he had done this; years, it had been years. Not since he'd been a teenager, which had been a long time ago. It hadn't felt this good then; he would have kept doing it if had. John's name was shouted out when he came.

John had no doubt heard him to; none of the doors were closed. He hoped John had heard; maybe then he would hurry up and get better. Then Sherlock would be able to shag him so hard, that he would be bedridden for another couple of days.

Yes, get well soon John.

And that's another chapter for all my readers, hope you enjoyed it!


	6. I'll kiss you forever

Author's note- Hey everyone I'm back again, because my computer finally started to work. Even it seems to have a good day every once in awhile. I can't wait until November, I get a lap top! Lets just hope that this old thing makes it until then...

Disclaimer- I don't own anything but the story itself!

John had slept through the rest of the morning, giving Sherlock time to do all the wash and properly deal with John's mattress. In fact, it gave him enough time to do all the laundry. Which, much to his surprise, really had piled up after almost three weeks.

John had always done all of their laundry once every three weeks and tomorrow was the typical laundry day. Sherlock had never known just how much work doing laundry was it took hours to do that much! Before moving into 221B, Sherlock just bought new clothes instead of washing the old ones. Now he was carefully washing everything.

Everything included John's jumpers; which Sherlock was extra careful with when reading the instructions. John loved jumpers and Sherlock decided that he would love them simply because of John's feelings towards them. Note to future self; when John wakes up, dress him in a jumper. It will make him happy. SH.

Sherlock blushed while washing underwear most all of which were John's because he hardly ever wore them. Waste of time and they were usually really scratchy. Of course, if John wanted to wear those cute boxers with those small red hearts on them; he wouldn't mind at all. In fact, he was dead set on seeing John in them.

After the wash; Sherlock mostly paced around the flat. He couldn't leave and he didn't feel like experiment. He wasn't actually sure he was ever going to be to able to do another experiment ever again.

It was noon before Sherlock heard a grown coming from his bedroom. It sounded weak, confused and lonely; all the things that he didn't want it to be. All the same; he rushed to John's side, ready for anything. Well, almost anything. In the last seven hours, John went from being somewhat alright, to downright ill. Sherlock felt even worse.

John was positively blue and had been shivering for quite a while; he was also sweating a lot. Even his eyes looked dead; Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest from the sight. Why does he keep getting worse instead of better? 'God, what did I do to him?' Sherlock thought as tears pushed through his eyes.

John was now very sick and unable to do anything. It was Sherlock's worst nightmare coming true. He felt his breath speed up; now was not the time to have a panic attack. Yet, he did this to John; sweet, lovable John. What if he got even worse? He needed to get better, not worse.

Sherlock felt absolutely useless; he couldn't ever get John any medication; there was no telling how the drug (if it was even still in his system) would react to it. A small, pitiful voice knocked Sherlock clear out of his thoughts, "Sher." His breathing returned to its normal state.

That grown of his name meant so very much. It turned a switch on in his brain and he started thinking. If he was starting to get better then this sickness was no doubt John's body trying to get rid of the unknown substance. This was the first step to John getting better.

"You're gonna be okay, Johny. It won't be that much longer now. Just shut your eyes and rest while I make you some tea to drink. It'll help with the cold." He whispered with a small smile present on his face. The drug was finally wearing off! After 24 horrible hours John was almost able to slur again!

He watched John close his eyes, before trudging over to the kitchen and putting the kettle on. He wasn't really any good at making tea, but for John he was sure going to have his best go at it. The kettle takes forever to bail, and Sherlock finds he can't do anything but stare at it. John needs to make the tea for John and the kettle needs to boil for Sherlock.

Finally; after much too long a wait, the tea is made and Sherlock rushes his way back to John with cup and saucer in hand. John is still awake; no doubt unable to sleep due to feeling so ill. Sherlock sets the tea to the side and helps push John into a sitting position.

Then he's holding the cup up to John lips tenderly, not wanting to spill it and hoping it's not too hot for John. To his relief, John drinks it. Slowly, the cup is drained and Sherlock feels happy. John always did love tea, and drank an abnormal amount of it a day. It was like his vice, much like cigarettes were to so many people in the world. He also had a very odd fondness of jam. "Okay Johny, I'm going to go and get you a piece of toast with jam. You have to eat it for me, alright?" He whispered placing a kiss on top of John's head before making his way back to the kitchen.

That's another thing that he had never used before the toaster couldn't possibly be that hard to figure out could it? Well, turns out it could because he burnt over half a loaf of bread to black crisp before producing one that was edible. Finally, the piece of on the darker side of brown toast was coated in John's favorite strawberry jam. John would be so proud, Sherlock made food for him! He's never made food for anyone before, and that just added to show John how special he was.

Carrying the plate of toast back into his room, it didn't even take a second to notice John's eyes on him. It was a nice feeling to know that John was utterly dependant on him. As weird as this situation was, no one had ever depended on him before. Still, the sooner John got better, the better life would be. He missed John already.

He wasn't sure just how much longer he could take this. He missed his John so badly. John groaned bringing Sherlock back to the present. Sherlock set the toast down and examined John. His face was red, he was covered in sweat and his breathing had hoarsened. This looked like a horrible sickness, and would most likely get worse before it started to get better. He feared it getting worse.

"Don't worry Johny, I'm here for you. I'm going to feed you this toast and then give you a sponge bath." He said as sweetly as he could manage. John did need another bath to rid him of the sweat, yet Sherlock was pretty sure it was unwise to move him in that condition. He would just have to be scrubbed down with a wash cloth.

Sherlock held John up in a sitting position and held the toast up to John's lips. Never in his life had he ever wanted to cry as much as when John attempted to take a bite and didn't have the strength to bite through the bread. The worst part was that John was truly trying his hardest yet, was still completely unable to.

When the idea popped into his head, Sherlock took a small bite of the toast; chewed slightly and then planted his lips onto John's. This had worked with the water, so it should be fine with a little bit of food. Even though he knew John hated being forced fed from last time; he also knew that it wasn't a good idea to go without food. Well, for John anyway, because John never seemed to gain weight yet loses some every time he missed a meal.

Sometimes, Sherlock wondered if John had some type of weight problem that made it impossible for him to gain weight. At that moment Sherlock realized that while John had managed to swallow the already chewed toast bite, their lips had yet to leave each others. Of course, it wasn't exactly as though John could get away from him. He was sort of holding the back of his head in place.

John's eyes were closed; did that mean he was counting this as a kiss? Sherlock hated not knowing, it absolutely sucked. When he pulled away; Sherlock watched as John's eyes fluttered back open. Yes, he had definitely counted that as a kiss. Sherlock repeated the process, this time when the toast was gone, licking slightly at John's lips.

Once more, licking around the inside of John's mouth for a short three seconds. Twice more, the kiss was no longer short at all. Thrice more, John was trying to do his best to kiss back. Soon enough, the toast was gone yet their lips stayed together. It was a magical moment, the best thing that had ever happened in his entire life. Nothing had ever felt so good, or tasted so sweet. This was heaven.

Sherlock's hand slivered over John's barely covered body, ignoring the sweat which was piled over him and explored John's chest. When he rubbed over a nipple, and John let out the most beautiful mulling sound of pleasure, Sherlock's cock jumped. God, there was nothing normal about this situation! He still couldn't even decide if he was taking advantage of John because there was nothing he could do but kiss back. He did not even have the strength to push him away!

He pulled back from John for a final time before tucking him back into the bed. "You need to get some more sleep Johny, you'll be completely recovered soon." Sherlock stated trying not to portray in his voice just how turned on he was at that moment.

That obviously hadn't worked because John just turned his head back at him and let out a small moan like word. "Sherl." Another sign of recovery, soon he would be able to move again all on his own. Only then, would this nightmare be over. Sherlock wasn't sure whether he was happy or sad; John would be better but John would no longer depend on him.

'No.' Sherlock quickly decided. 'John's recovery is the most important thing.' This was all so confusing. "You nap for a short while Johny, then I'll give you that sponge bath." He said before retreating from the room. In reality he should be giving John that bath right now, but he had a rather large hard on to deal with first; it was so hard it hurt.

And there's another chapter that's being put up before in thought it would be. Hope you enjoyed it, and I want to read your comments, so review for me pretties!


	7. Humiliate yourself for me

**Author's Note: Hey everyone, it's **_**been**_** a long time since I updated this. Of course, you didn't need to be told that, sorry! Please don't hate me, I'll write more often I promise. Also, rereading the last chapter made me realize that Sherlock has been in nothing but his boxers for a while now, oops? Also, I'm proud to say that you get another longer chapter! That's two in a row; don't forget to review for me! I love you all, bye bye pretties. ~Doom Out~**

Disclaimer- I don't own anything but the story itself!

Sherlock stood in the living room, next to the chair where John would be sitting if Sherlock hadn't gotten them into this situation in the first place. He was so angry with himself for doing this to John, yet if he hadn't, he might have gone on forever without even realizing how he felt about John. Still, he hurt John which was totally unacceptable.

Sherlock sat in John's chair and stuffed a hand down his boxers. It was a humiliating to be doing this again so soon, especially since he hadn't done it in years before hand. Yet this was twice in not a lot of hours. Yes, he was going to blame this one on John, for being so damn tempting and fragile and kissable and fuckable and _fuck did he ever just want to go back into that room and molest John._

Once John got better, he wasn't ever going to be able to leave the house again, because Sherlock was just going to keep fucking that frail body into every surface. Maybe he would let him out, if he agreed to where something like a chastity device, so Sherlock didn't have to worry about someone else touching his John. Maybe plug him up with Sherlock's cum still within, having to deal with a vibrator all day. Since John liked jam so much, maybe he should try using it for liberation. That way, when he unplugged John he could show what a good job he did by cleaning him up with his tongue.

Sherlock bit down on his lip harshly at all the different perverted fantasy's that were spiraling around in his head. God, he couldn't even wait to try some of them out, when John was better. Yet in the meantime, his hand and imagination would have to do. His hand ran its way up and down his hard, thick cock, moving faster with every stroke. What would John's lips feel like on his length, it would be warm and wet and oh god he wouldn't even know what he was doing because John hadn't ever been with a man before. He would try so damn hard and choke every time, only to pull just the tiniest away with a frustrated frown on his face.

Sherlock squeezed roughly at the thought of John down on his knees, whimpering because it wouldn't all go into his mouth. Knowing John he would pull back and make a stupid joke or better yet, _complain that it was to fucking big. _"Fuck!" Sherlock cried as he came over both the top of his stomach and his hand. John would have licked him clean.

After a few moments of just floating in the afterglow, Sherlock sighed and stood back up. It was time to get over himself and get dressed so he could help John. Still, it hadn't been that long and he had told him to have a nap. Considering the time of day though, John probably hadn't listened. Of course, there hadn't been anything for him to do in the last twenty minutes except sleep, _or listen to Sherlock jerk himself off right outside the fucking room._ SO, chances were he was asleep.

Sherlock dressed himself with the newly cleaned laundry, and wondered over towards the bathroom. He had promised to give John a bath, and it would be better for him to be clean. He filled up a large bowl half way with warm water, and got a couple of facecloths ready with it. By no means did he want to do something like this again, it was a sever invasion of John's privacy and Sherlock was being to worry that John would hate him when he got better. Still, he could guess that giving him a sponge bath wouldn't be the reason for hate at this point in time, especially after how they had kissed before. God, he hoped that John wouldn't be mad, because if John did something crazy like move out, Sherlock would no doubt follow him and get into trouble. He had been warned not to get into trouble if he wanted to work with Lestrade, and even though this wouldn't be drugs, he had a feeling that Lestrade would still be very mad.

Still, it wouldn't matter at that point; Sherlock could just picture himself being happy just to see John again after he left, even if it was from a distance. Sherlock sighed before picking up everything he would need to give John a bath and sauntered back into his own room. He really should move John back to his own room, now that the mess has been cleaned up and everything is dry. John would probably be much more comfortable in his own room. Yet, he didn't want to move him, he liked having John sleep in his room, it was like he was being kept in there and didn't have a way to leave. The irony in that statement was that he really didn't have any way to get out; because of the fact he could move by himself. 'Oh well, I'm sure that won't bother him at all compared to everything else that has happened in the last few days.' Sherlock thought with a grimace.

When he turned the light on, John whimpered at him. Sherlock quickly placed everything down on his side table and rushed over to John's side. It didn't sit well with him that something was wrong again already, god when was the last time he had brought something to drink? Was John dying, and it was definitely all his fault. He had failed John, the one person in the world who he actually cared about. He leaned down closer to John and whispered sweetly into his ear. "What's the matter John; tell me what wrong so I can fix it for you."

John's breaths harshen sharply and Sherlock felt his heart rate go up. Oh god, was he actually dying? Then to Sherlock dismay, John turned slightly red and whimpered again. "John tell me what you need, I can't do anything until you tell me." Sherlock said much harsher than had been intended, but he could even help it because of how worried he was.

John turned his head slightly more towards Sherlock and from that close; Sherlock could see tears prickling up in his eyes. He cursed himself slightly, for all his deductive knowledge was absolutely no help in this situation. He was just as helpless as John as in this situation, and he hated every second of it, what's worse is that he knew that John probably felt a hundred times worse. "I havt pee…" John whimpered as tears started to descend down his face.

Sherlock eyes widened in shock, and before he even registered what John had said his mind was doing back flips due to the fact the John both turned his head and spoke in a sentence form that had even made since! Then he realized exactly what John had said, or rather, _what he had just forced John to say like a total asshole._ Sherlock frowned at his own actions; he had just made John cry by humiliating him. God he was a horrible person, and yet he could help but feel a bit turned on by the way John had just humiliated himself because he had been asked to. Yes, he was absolutely disgusting.

A needed asshole though, because John was clearly asking for his help and as long as John needed him, he would help. "Alright John, you don't have to cry, you did well with telling me. I'll help you, just stay still for me, so I don't hurt you." Sherlock wasn't even sure why he had said that, but it had seemed like the right thing to say. Plus by the way John's tears stopped when he had been complimented, it had been correct to say. Which was great because he really had no other way with dealing with tears.

Carefully, Sherlock picked John up and marched him towards the bathroom, all bathing materials he had brought in with him completely forgotten. Only when he got there did he realize what was about to happen; he was going to have to "help" him go to the washroom. God, was it horrible that he got hard at the very thought that he was going to have to touch John's private length? It probably was, so he chose to ignore it and pulled the stool which they kept in the bathroom so that John could reach the top shelf of their cabinet. He sat down on it with John sitting in his lap. Not a good situation for trying to hide his erection, in fact it was kind of stupid because now every tiny movement rubbed it against the soft, perfectness that was John's ass.

What's more is that Sherlock now pulled John's boxers slightly down and tugged out his cock. He stroke it e few times as if trying to commit the feeling to memory and marveling as a came slightly to life. Then, he remembered his mission here and aimed towards the toilet for John. "Alright John just let go, I'm here for you." He whispered and was completely unable to stop himself from licking and nibbling at John's defenseless ear.

John whimpered in defeat, yet let go all the same. Sherlock figured that at this point he was just happy that he hadn't wet the bed again. When John was finished Sherlock carried him back to bed, and couldn't help but kiss his forehead while placing his blanket over him once more. The water he had carried in was already long cold, but he suddenly didn't care. He needed to do something about his erection, _**again.**_

As he turned to leave, Johns hand caught onto his shirt and weakly tugged, causing Sherlock to stop. He turned back to John and watched him fidget as much as he could manage. "Please, just stay 'th me?" The words came out as nothing more than a whimper, but they made Sherlock heart try and leap out through his throat. He didn't trust himself to say anything, so Sherlock just nodded and climbed into the bed behind John. Was this what it was like to be happy? He hoped John would be better soon, because at this moment he wanted nothing more than them to live a happy healthy life together. He could hardly wait.


End file.
